


Til the Love Runs Out

by marvelling



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:36:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelling/pseuds/marvelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(post winter soldier)</p><p>Bucky always keeps an eye on Steve, making sure he doesn't get into trouble, ready to intervene if necessary.<br/>Steve eventually realises that someone's watching him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Til the Love Runs Out

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from OneRepublic's song Love Runs Out which I love and I think is great for describing stevebucky.
> 
> enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. i don't know if they used inhalers in the 40s, but lets just go with it, it's only one line.

From his vantage point on the roof, Bucky had a clear view of Steve punching and dropkicking his way through a group of thugs. Bucky lay on his stomach, sniper pointed at the fighting men, ready to take someone out if Steve became overwhelmed.

 

He’d been doing this for months now; following Steve and making sure he didn’t get into trouble, but he never once made contact with the man. He didn’t feel he was ready to face the pity or the hundred and one questions about where he disappeared to after Washington.

 

Truth is, Bucky hadn’t really disappeared at all. He hung around the city, learning about the world he supposedly helped shape and sometimes a news story would spark a memory. More often than not Bucky wouldn’t like what he remembered, but he was glad to have the memories all the same.

 

Eventually he decided to go back to Brooklyn. That’s where the museums and history books said he was from. Walking down the empty streets in the middle of the night did nothing to spark Bucky’s memory, until he headed down a side street next to a closed down café.

 

He staggered back a few steps as it hit him; the memory of him rushing to pull two bozos off Steve as they laid into him. Bucky had gotten the biggest guy in a headlock and managed to pin him to the ground as his accomplice ran off.

 

_“I had ‘em on the ropes, Buck.” Steve muttered, wiping blood from his mouth with his sleeve._

_“As usual.” Bucky released the oaf from the headlock and kicked his ass out of the alley. “I better not catch you near him again, asshole!” he yelled before stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the brick wall. He eyed Steve anxiously as the skinny kid dusted himself off. “This is getting to be a regular routine, Stevie.”_

_“I don’t need you to save me all the time, Buck. I can handle myself.” Steve frowned and stalked past him._

_“Hey!” Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. He glanced over Steve’s head before he pulled him into the shadows of the alley by his shirt collar. “Look…” he paused for a moment, chewing his lip as he stared down at Steve. “Say, next time, if it’s just one guy, I’ll let him kick your ass.” He pinned Steve against the wall and swiftly pressed a kiss to his lips. “How ‘bout that?” Bucky murmured, grinning as Steve tried to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes looking anywhere but Bucky’s mouth._

_“You’re a jerk.” Steve hissed, reaching for his inhaler._

Bucky sank to the floor, his head in his hands, struggling to breathe himself. He ran his hands through his hair and staggered to his feet. He only took a few steps before he froze. Someone was running in his direction. Instinctively he fled up the fire escape, seeking refuge on the roof. He knelt at the edge, watching as the runner passed the building at an alarming pace.

 

 

His throat closed up as he pushed himself away from the edge, clutching his head as a flood of memories came to him.

 

_Lying on their mattress, curled around Steve’s shivering body, trying desperately to keep him warm._

_Kissing Steve’s naked back as it lay exposed in the light of the morning sun._

_Flipping through Steve’s sketchbook, surprised by how many drawings there were of him._

_Holding Steve’s hand at the movies when the lights finally went down._

_Working extra shifts to pay for Steve’s medicine._

_The winter of ’37 when Steve almost didn’t make it._

_Chaste kisses in dark alleyways._

 

He finally remembered who he was. He was James Buchanan Barnes, not an assassin or a soldier, but a friend, a brother, a _lover_ to Steve Rogers. And years ago, as he sat in his bedroom, crying because Mrs Rogers had told him Steve was too sick to come play and that this time he might not get better, he made a promise that he’d never let _anything_ hurt Steve _ever_.

 

So he followed him everywhere, keeping his eight year old self’s promise.

 

 

 

One of the thugs had a knife. Bucky saw him advance toward Steve while his back was turned, beating up two other guys. So Bucky took him out. Steve spun around as the guy dropped and his gang yelled, scanning the rooftops as they fled, but Bucky was already gone.

 

***

 

Steve was taking a shower, trying to calm down.

 

_Bucky was there. Bucky took out that guy. It had to be Bucky._

He shut off the water, wrapping a towel around his waist, then stood for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself.

 

_Has he been following me? How long has this been going on?_

_Does this mean he remembers me?_

_What if it’s not even him?_

_Of course it’s him. How many sniper friends do I have?!_

_Jesus Christ. Bucky was_ there. _He was looking out for me._

_He was saving my ass… as usual._

Steve threw on a pair of sweatpants and decided that mind numbing TV was the best solution to his problems. He grabbed a tube of Pringles and a two litre bottle of Coke before getting comfy on the couch and flicking through the channels.

 

***

 

Bucky retrieved his holdall from the storage cupboard before heading up to the roof of the building next door to Steve’s. He quickly changed into his sweats and thick sweater before throwing down his mat and settling down with his blanket, watching Steve watch TV shirtless.

 

 _God bless this punk for never closing his damn blinds._ Bucky grinned, tucking into the Chinese food he’d just picked up from the back seat of the delivery car.

 

He still wasn’t sure why he didn’t just knock on Steve’s door, why he preferred sitting out in the cold watching him from a roof. He figured he just needed space. He hadn’t been free for seventy years, and although he knew Steve missed him, Bucky wanted to be sure he was stable before going to him.

 

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night to find he wasn’t where he fell asleep or sometimes he forgot to speak English and began speaking Russian to the old guy at the homeless shelter or sometimes he’d just lose himself in the memories of the winter soldier and he wouldn’t move for days.

 

He wouldn’t let Steve see him like that. Although he knew Steve wouldn’t judge him, he was still too proud.

 

As Steve stood and stretched, Bucky pulled his hat lower over his face, although there was no way Steve would see him. He watched as the man walked to the window, glanced at the street below and then at the roof where Bucky hid. He saw Steve squint up at him, then sigh and run a hand through his hair and shake his head, reluctantly closing his blinds. The lights in Steve’s apartment went out as Steve went to bed, but Bucky stayed awake.

 

He lay back, thankful for the pillow given to him by the old man from the homeless shelter, and stared up at the stars. He recalled one night he and Steve had sat out for a watch shift on a Howling Commando mission. They’d sat by the fire, hand in hand, gazing up at the stars, looking for constellations.

 

_“I think I see one!”_

_“Where?!”_

_“Right there!” Bucky pointed._

_Steve shook his head. “You’re making that up, there’s nothing there, Buck.”_

_“I swear, Steve!” he smirked, as he watched Steve scrutinize the sky. “It’s you, naked, with a bald eagle perched on your arm.”_

_Steve glared at him and punched him._

_“God bless America,” Bucky sighed. He rubbed his shoulder, wincing slightly. “That’s gonna bruise.”_

_“Good.”_

_“Punk.”_

_“Jerk.”_

Bucky fell asleep smiling for the first time in seventy years.

 

***

 

At 5am Steve put in his headphones and headed for the roof of his building. He was positive he saw something the night before. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, but there was an orange glow on the horizon as the sky lightened to a light blue, grey. Steve took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air as he stepped out onto the roof, sketch pad in hand. He loved mornings.

 

Bracing himself he silently crossed the roof so that he got a full view of the neighboring building’s own roof a few floors below him. His breath caught in his throat as he saw him lying there, curled up into a tight ball, a thin blanket pulled up to his chin and a beanie hat pulled tight over his ears.

 

Steve settled himself down, pulling his hood up and opening his sketch pad. He rubbed his hands together and blew on his fingertips, warming them before he started drawing Bucky sleeping.

 

Once he’d finished he tore out the page and stood, thinking for a moment. He folded the sketch as he planned his next move. Bucky hadn’t moved a muscle in since Steve first found him, but the regular puffs of air from his reddened nose assured Steve he hadn’t died.

 

Steve had decided. He quickly made his way back to his apartment and then set about making a flask of tea and some toast. He wrote a quick note bellow the drawing and taped something to it. He put the toast in a Tupperware tub, hoping it would keep it kind of warm and he grabbed the flask.

 

***

 

His muscles were stiff and every bone cracked as he stretched out, but Bucky had just had the best sleep in years. He squinted into the brilliant sun, and put the time at about 6am. He stood and folded up his blanket, but froze when he caught sight of the flask and Tupperware tub sitting a few feet away.

 

He shot a terrified glance at Steve’s window. The blinds were closed. His eyes shifted to the roof of Steve’s building above him.

 

_Shit. He did see me._

Bucky clenched his jaw and stuffed his blanket and pillow into the holdall. He didn’t bother changing out of his warmer clothes. After deliberating for a few minutes, he gave in and retrieved the breakfast Steve had left him.

 

He hated how good it was. The toast wasn’t as warm as he used to take it, but it was made perfectly with just the right amount of butter… the tea was amazingly hot and warmed him from the inside out. Bucky found himself fighting the urge to smile as he noticed the paper in the bottom of the tub. The first sheet was blank, there only to protect the other sheet from greasy stains.

 

Bucky bit his lip. Steve often used to sneak drawings into his lunch. Random doodles of plants or neighbors or shoes, nothing too exciting, but Bucky loved them and he kept them all in a box in his wardrobe. He gingerly unfolded it. It was of him, sleeping on the roof. Drawn in incredible detail, his features identical, as if it were a photograph. Steve always had a brilliant talent for drawing Bucky.

 

And then there was the note:

 

_I know you think you can get by on your own, but the thing is… you don’t have to._

_I’m with you to the end of the line, pal._

At the bottom of the page, he’d taped a small silver key.

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw as he swallowed against the lump in his throat as he remembered saying those words to Steve so many years ago. He held the key in his hand, unable to move for a while.

 

Eventually he stood and gathered his things. He headed down the fire escape and then across the road to Steve’s building.

 

He knew the door number.

 

He knew the key would work.

 

And he knew that Steve would be in there waiting for him.

 

He took a deep breath before sliding the key in the lock and opening the door. The apartment smelled like Steve. It smelled like home. Bucky left his bag at the door and kicked off his boots. He clutched the small key tightly in his hand as he silently made his way to the living room.

 

Steve sat on the couch, watching a cooking show on TV. Bucky didn’t say anything. He just sat down beside him rested his head on his shoulder. Steve wrapped an arm around him and held him for a few moments, not saying anything. He kissed the top of Bucky’s head, grinning.

 

“You smell kinda bad, Buck.”

 

“Thanks Steve.”

 

“But I’m glad you’re home… finally.”

 

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> thanks for reading!


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